Hello, My Name Is
by smacky30
Summary: Drabble. Grissom dishes on the team. Very Slight GSR. Rated for language only.


Disclaimer: I don't own CSI. That's why I work for a living.

Hello, My Name Is…

Have you ever fucked something up so badly that you couldn't see it ever being right again? No? Well, then you are one of a very small few andI envy you. You see, I've managed to make a total mess of my life. I'm a social misfit who just happens to lead a group of other misfits on a quest for justice in the crime ridden city of Las Vegas. We sleep during the day and collect evidence at night. Without a doubt, we are the best team in the best lab in the country. Who knows, maybe you _have_ to be strange to be good at what we do.

If there were a twelve step program for freaks I would be a charter member. I can imagine it sometimes. I would stand, hands clasped in front of me, and say, "Hello, my name is Gil Grissom and I am a fuck up." And everyone would respond, "Hello, Gil." Alcoholics shouldn't be allowed to corner the market on support groups. Of course, would people as socially inept as I am ever join a self-help group? No. Don't see it happening.

I can remember a time when I wasn't this way, a time when I wasn't withdrawn and surly. I used to date. I know it's hard to believe but it's true. A lab tech or two, a forensic anthropologist, a dominatrix, a grad student. Don't ask. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Well, the grad student wasn't in Vegas but I'll save that for later. I used to be fun. I used to joke around and _have fun_. Now I slog through each day, absorbed by the darkness around me, remembering what human contact felt like but afraid to reach out for it.

Now it seems like all I ever do is sit here in my office, in the dark. The only light comes from a desk lamp and the heat lamp over my tarantula. My computer screen glows blue in the dim light of the room. The glass walls provide no privacy from prying eyes. I don't need sheetrock and paint to keep people out though. I have the infamous Grissom glare for that. The only people not intimidated are Jim and Catherine. It usually takes deliberate rudeness to drive them away. Believe me when I tell you I've learned this the hard way.

Let me tell you a little about my merry band of geeks. There is an ex-stripper/cocaine addict/single mother, an ex-gambler who got married in a drive-thru, a nice guy who sleeps with prostitutes and attracts stalkers, a cross-dressing DNA god, a smart-assed detective with family issues, and Sara. Dear lord what kind of description could I lay on Sara? She is, without a doubt, the second most messed up of the group. Her parents made sure of that. If I am King of the Crazies then she is theirQueen. Not that either of us is crazy. Oh, never mind…

I really need to work on the piles of paperwork that continuously cover my desk. Why does crime require so much damned paper? Whoever said that computers would make us a paperless society (I should know but it escapes me) was wrong. Dead wrong – get it? Hah! Sometimes I crack myself up. File after file that must be read and signed, overtime slips that have to be approved, vacation requests and employee evaluations to be considered. _That_ is the life of a supervisor. It sucks.

I just realized that shift ended two hours ago. Let me pack up and we'll continue this at my place. Why don't you come in to my 'hermetically sealed condo'. At least that's what Catherine called it. I tried to explain that it's a townhouse but she didn't seem to care. I don't see anything wrong with my house. It's open and airy – or at least that's what the real estate agent said. There's space for all my pets and my butterfly collection. The tile floor stays cool in the Vegas heat. I have a place for my books, movies and music. I don't have much furniture but I'm single. Catherine seems to think I live in a vacuum. I'm not sure why. I _do_ things. I _go_ places. Just last month I went to an entomological conference in Philadelphia. My racers took a couple of the events. When I brought that up earlier today, Catherine, social butterfly that she is, just rolled her eyes and walked off.

Catherine and I have been friends for years. Sometimes I'm not sure why. I've suffered through her divorce andwatched her struggle to raise a daughter alone. She's independent and a little scary but I admire those qualities.Pulled herself up out of the gutter and made something of her life. She's a good criminalist and a damned sexy woman. Not that I'm interested beyond the normal male appreciation for the female form. Knowing too much about someone can take away the allure. Besides, Catherine isn't interested in me. She knows where my heart is and she keeps trying to get my body to join it. But that's another part of this story.

There is something I know about Catherine that she thinks I haven't figured out. She once accused me of having my head in a microscope. Admittedly, I do but when I lift it out I am _very _observant. I remember the day Warrick came in and told us he got married. While everyone was congratulating him Catherine was looking like she swallowed one of my roaches. I might not be the most communicative individual on this planet but that doesn't mean I don't know hurt when I see it. I am perfectly capable of recognizing human misery. I've had a lot of practice. But I digress. I think those two would be a good fit. Oh well, unlike some, I won't push.

That was a nice little segue into Warrick, if I do say so myself. Warrick Brown, raised by his grandmother, never knew his father, turned down a shot a minor league baseball and worked as a runner for bookies to pay his way through school. There are so many things I could say about him. He came to me rough around the edges. He was angry and defiant but managed to hide it well. He had a gambling problem. Maybe we could make him the leader of our little Freaks-R-Us group. He's been through the meetings I think. Anyway, he, of all the crew, is the most like me in the 'hide your emotions' department, even the spurts of anger. I _have_ been known to abuse a coffee pot or two in my time. He's made a lot of mistakes but I know his heart's in the right place. People think I play favorites with Warrick. Maybe I do. But I like to _think_ I'm impartial.

Of course, I say that Warrick is most like me but then he goes and gets married at a drive-thru chapel. After what happened to Nick I guess we all felt life getting away from us. But to marry a girl you've only known for a couple of months? Where is the common sense in that? Anybody who knows me knows I would never do something like that, right? You know, I've seen Warrick grow and become the man he is today. And the man he is today is not happy. He still laughs with Nick. He still flirts with Catherine and gives Greg shit. But when I see him sitting alone he looks unhappy.

Now about Nick. Nick is…Nick. What you see is what you get. He's gullible and guileless. If you need someone to cover your back Nick is your man. He's loyal and trustworthy. He still believes in justice. He hasn't become jaded by all the things we see. Oh God, I'm making him sound like a boy scout. Maybe he was. But don't get too excited. Nick has his issues too.

First there was Kristy. She was Nick's siren. Her song led him right up to the rocks. Only Catherine, and her determination, kept him from crashing. He does seem to attract the attention of every dangerous psycho in the city. There was the crazy cable guy, Nigel Crane. He stalked and killed a woman then set the stage to look like something out of Nick's past. Of course he then felt the need to show up at Nick's place and try to kill him. Talk about a freak. Mr. Crane should definitely consider joining my little support group. Then there was the kidnapping. Walter Gordon snatched him at random because we put his daughter in prison. I guess that really pissed him off. What Nick endured buried in that Plexiglas coffin was more than any one person should have to deal with. To think that, even then, he was concerned about disappointing me. Man, it makes my head hurt to even remember.

You want to know about Jim Brass? Where do I start? I feel like we've traded places to some degree. He started out as a pain-in-the-ass supervisor type and I was the guy that they learned from and could talk to. Now I'm a pain-in-the-ass supervisor type and he's laid back. Well, most of the time he's laid back. Piss him off and you _will_ regret it. But if he's your friend he'll go to the wall for you.

Jim hasn't had it easy. His wife had an affair. He raised a daughter that wasn't his. Now Ellie has turned her back on him. She's a drug addict who pays for her habit by selling her body. It's eating away at him inside. He hides his pain well. If we weren't friends I wouldn't have a clue. He's gruff and can be rude. I think I've heard it called snarky. I'm not sure where that word came from but if I had to guess I'd pick Greg. How in the hell a New Jersey cop gets along with a bunch of geeks like us just proves that he's nuts too.

The cross-dressing DNA god is the youngest of the group. In all fairness I shouldn't call him a cross-dresser. He only wore the showgirl headdress once. Oh, and the dress. But it was over his clothes. Greg is a genius. And like most geniuses he's goofy. Yeah, that's the word for it – goofy. He dances and sings and listens to loud music. His hair is an abomination. He can irritate me to no end. Sometimes I want to wrap my hands around his throat and choke the answers out of him. But he never fails to come through. He could be making a lot of money in the private sector but he chooses to stay with us. He works hard and will go above and beyond. Anybody that'll let you put a fungus on their feet, without asking questions, is a little nuts. Greg and I have one thing in common. That is our desire for Sara.

Sara, Sara, Sara. Where do I even begin? The first time I saw her I was captivated. I was giving a three day seminar at UC Berkley. She was a grad student with an insatiable thirst for information. Why else would a Theoretical Physicist attend a seminar on Forensic Entomology? Of course I didn't know that when I watched her saunter through the door. She was impossibly young. She practically glowed. Yeah, I really said that. She was vital and alive. When she came up after the lecture to ask questions I wanted her to stand there talking forever. I can't tell you what she asked or how I answered. I just listened to her voice, low and throaty with a hint of smoke and sex. I was no virgin but I had never been that aroused by a woman's voice, not even if it were whispering dirty little things in my ear.

My seminar wrapped up on a Thursday. Sara had shown up for every one. I didn't realize until later that she was blowing off classes to be there. I only knew that I was glad to see her because it meant I got to listen to her talk. Maybe that's why the hearing loss hit me so hard. Anyway, I had thought about surprising my mother with a visit but decided to stay with Sara. We had coffee a few times. We even had dinner. But I never kissed her. Something told me that I would never be able to let her go if I tasted her even once. I left to head back to Vegas but I kept in touch with her because she made me laugh and she challenged my mind. When she took a job at the San Francisco Crime Lab I was surprised and flattered. Then I needed some help here and the rest is history.

What does she look like? Wow, that's hard to answer. She has dark hair and brown eyes. She has freckles and a generous mouth. She has the most amazing gap between her front teeth. She is long, incredibly long with long arms and long legs. Almost awkward but then just unbelievable. She is the only woman who has ever distracted me at a crime scene. Oh, and her lips, can't forget her lips. They are full and pink and make me think of things that are better left unsaid. I could go on for days about how she looks but that isn't what makes Sara special.

What is? The most special thing about Sara Sidle is her spark. When she first came here she had the most incredible spark. Even thought I put her in an impossible situation she managed to keep her idealism intact. When I look at her now I don't see it. I don't know what happened between tape me up/pin me down/sleep with me and the 'relationship' with Hank. I don't know what she expects from me. I have spent years shoving her away. I knew she wanted me. Hell, I wanted her. Still do if the truth be told. But she still seemed young and I was her boss and…Shit! Does it matter? No, of course not. None of it matters. Sara is the model by which I judge all other women. And they are all sorely lacking. Yes, I love her. But I can't tell her. Too much has happened and she will never forgive me.

Catherine once told me that people were forming a family around me whether I liked it or not. Maybe I should tell her my new theory. No matter what kind of group dynamic we share, we are definitely dysfunctional. We all need something that we can't find any where else. And I, as their fearless leader, am the worst one of all.

Hello, my name is Gil Grissom and I am a fuck up.


End file.
